


Girls, Fate, and Other Things That Nearly Killed Me

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Seriously I shouldn't have to write that tag, but don't do it, don't post my work anywhere without my permission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 05:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: In which Jasper has one consistency in his life (and beyond), even if he doesn’t know it yet.





	Girls, Fate, and Other Things That Nearly Killed Me

 

 

The Texan sun streams in through the doorway, yet Jasper Whitlock finds he can barely pay it any attention. He feels drained, as if he's ran one too many races, as if he's climbed one too many trees. His limbs are sore, even though the soles of his feet are free from evidence an adventure would bring. No blisters from his new boots, no mud between his toes.

He's seven years old and has just had his first brush with death.

Not that he's aware of such a thing.

It won't be his last either.

Rubbing cautiously at his hair, Jasper finds the honeyed curls limp, greased with the sweat of a hard day's work, even though he sure doesn't recall working on the farm yesterday. His mouth tastes funny too, tastes real bad. Like the time John had dared him to eat Ma's apple turnover after it'd been out in the sun too long, only worse.

Pottering his way over to the wooden worktop, Jasper halts in his steps when he sees his father sitting up to the kitchen table with another figure.

It's a woman, he can tell that much by the long hair and delicate features. Like a flower; her cheeks and lips are softer than the hard edge of his father's jawline. She appears really gentle, as if she wouldn't look out of place in a field of Texas bluebells. Even her skin’s flower petal soft, ripened peach with apple red cheeks. Real pretty.

He's too late to catch the conversation, but Jasper's father catches the woman's hand in his own, bowing low over it as he places a kiss to the knuckles, whispering a thank you before he heads out to work on the farm, as usual. Jasper stares a little more, brows scrunching in confusion. He remembers a few things now, like how his father had been sick, how he and John and Mary had been forced to pick up the slack alongside Ma, how John'd gotten ill not long after. All sweaty and feverish... had he gotten ill too?

"Good morning.”

Jolting at the sudden address, Jasper's cheeks flush, heart hammering in his chest as he turns to the woman.

She's sitting up to their kitchen table with half a bread roll in hand, the sides smeared with strawberry preserve. It’s been toasted over a fire, the edges crisp. She takes a dainty bite, the crunch echoing in the silence between them.

"Good morning, Ma'am," Jasper atones politely, drumming up his most charming grin, the one that usually gets him out of trouble with Ma, that gets Mary on his side against John. It's effectiveness is probably hindered by his greasy hair and unwashed face, but he gets the feeling he's charmed the lady anyway.

"Just Hariel, please."

"Of course, Miss Hariel. My name is Jasper Whitlock."

Smiling at Miss Hariel one last time, Jasper does his best to not let the relief show on his face when the lady pushes out a chair for him to join her at the table. He's not sure why there's a second plate of bread on the table, coated in the same preserve Miss Hariel is enjoying. Had she been expecting him? How? Did she hear his footsteps upon the floor, as Jasper has often heard John and Mary running about? It's how he always knows when they're trying to sneak up on him, so it would make sense.

"Thank you, Miss Hariel."

"You can drop the Miss, Jasper."

Miss Hariel smiles at him, something close to teasing in her expression and Jasper's cheeks burn.

She's real pretty. She's also the first real lady that's ever paid attention to him before.

"That wouldn't be proper, Miss Hariel," he stammers out slightly, nervously eyeing his immediate surrounds, sure her husband will appear out of nowhere to glare down upon him for even considering such a thing. All the while, he tries valiantly to ignore the curling humour that seems to blanket Miss Hariel, does his best to ignore the way she keeps smiling at him like he's something, well, something adorable. Something to coo at, like when the cat had its kittens and Mary couldn't stop stroking them. He finds he doesn't appreciate such a thing.

"How are you feeling, Jasper? No light-headedness, no dizzy sensations?"

There's a hand on his forehead and Jasper hastily pushes the last of his bread and preserve into his mouth, well aware of the sticky state of his fingers, the strawberry substance smeared along his skin.

"I-I'm fine, thank you, Ma'am."

"Well I'd be a very poor healer if I didn't check."

Healer?

"Is that like a doctor?"

“Something like it, yes.” Miss Hariel smiles again, tucking a loose lock of black hair behind her ear. It draws Jasper’s attention; there’s jewellery piercing the lobe, a small glittering gem. Now, Jasper hasn’t ever seen a metal more precious than copper, he hasn’t a chance at identifying the sparkly stone in Miss Hariel’s ear. All he can see is that it twinkles in the morning light leaking in through the window, colourless and set in what he thinks is a silver clasp. Miss Hariel comes from money, that much is obvious. She’s not poor at all. Though it’s strange for a woman to be a doctor; Jasper hadn’t been aware it was a job a woman could hold.

“Thank you for healing us, Miss Hariel.”

“It was my genius pleasure, Jasper. Perhaps we’ll see each other again someday?” She stands, a clear indication she wishes to leave and Jasper jolts up to his feet, hands still sticky from the sweet tang of strawberry preserve. He sees her to the door, eyes still peeled for that elusive husband. He doesn’t spot the man. Jasper supposes a man wealthy enough to provide for a woman like Miss Hariel would be important enough to have other things to do. Maybe Miss Hariel has some help that’ll be escorting her home?

“Goodbye, Jasper. It was lovely meeting you.”

She’s down the yard before Jasper really registers the words, the lack of an escort to welcome her. Mrs Davison from the next house over watches her go, looking back to Jasper, curious. He can’t quite meet her gaze, wondering what the nosy neighbour thinks. Probably something that’d make his Ma’ redden with embarrassment. He doesn’t quite like Mrs Davison or, at least, doesn’t like how she makes the rest of his family feel.

Miss Hariel doesn’t acknowledge her in the slightest.

Still holding onto the front door, Jasper slowly slides it closed, chewing slowly on his lip.

“Goodbye, Miss Hariel.” He hopes they will meet again.

 

 

Time passes.

Jasper grows, as do his siblings. War breaks out; young and eager, he signs up (too young, lying on enlistment, too naive). He rises through the ranks quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. Major Jasper Whitlock. The army ensures he can read and write, as is necessary of those with a reasonable rank. Paperwork is... well, paperwork. It’s far from pleasant but he’s got more opportunities than he had as the son of a farmer. He’s got money to send back to his Ma. Maybe they’ll even be able to get enough of a dowery together to secure Mary a decent husband so she can live a good life.

It’s with these thoughts in mind that Jasper continues marching through his life. Marching to orders, performing relief work for civilians, organising the troops.

Then he stops by the road, happy to aid three women hiding from the summer sun’s harsh rays.

He recalls a pretty woman whose features have long since escaped his memory, only characterised by her curly black hair and warm smile. A woman that helped his family when they needed it.

Then he offers aid to these women and recalls no longer.

 

 

 

The years blur together after that.

It’s fights and teeth and venom and fights and more teeth and venom. The inhuman screeching, the sound of tearing stone, the crackle of flames and sickly-sweet air. The haze of before becomes white noise, a near blank canvas upon which this new life is imprinted. (There’s a moment, a brief glimpse, when he thinks he can see eyes green as summer’s grass. It disperses like smoke in the wind).

Maria has her goals, her aspirations and ambitions. She’s willing to do anything and everything to get there. Here, the lives of the apex predator is measured in days, not decades. And Jasper...

Jasper makes himself invaluable. Makes himself near immortal through necessity. He can calm the newborns, can direct them. He can be the keystone to the bridge Maria sees, the component that holds up her whole operation in that quest for larger territory. Jasper...

Jasper survives.

 

He’s not living though.

 

 

 

Years pass in a haze of blood and fights and more blood. He amasses a network of scars like a cartographer might map a landscape, features intertwining with one another, weaving together to create something unique. It wraps up the length of each arm, stretches across his chest, branches out from his collarbones and descends down his back like a cape. A lacework of evidence he was just that little bit better, just that slightest bit stronger, just that much... more than any others had been.

There is no relief from stretching his arms above his head now, not with a body that no longer runs on human means. So instead, Jasper edges down the street, shrouded from the last stretch of the dusking sun’s clawing fingers by a worn wall. The house it belongs to has been empty for months, cleared out by Maria herself during their arrival. The locals believe it haunted now, dare not darken the doorstep with their presence, for fear whatever unnaturalness took the previous occupants shall strike them down also. That works for Jasper; a secure place where he can reside and not worry about the humans that may happen across him. To survive he must feed, to feed he must cause pain. To cause pain, he must suffer his penance. Empathy, that’s what Maria has theorised. Jasper rather agrees with her; it makes sense, after all.

A pair of humans pass by; male, important, dressed in waistcoats with silver watches tucked into the pockets. They’re puffing away on cigars and the smoke drowns any otherwise appetising scents. Jasper watches them go, eyes burning bright. He fed recently, but an hour ago on some unfortunate that just so happened to stumble into his clutches. There is something wrong with humans, their brains don’t work the same, don’t register danger like every other animal on the planet does. They see vampires and think them fascinating. Every other animal tries to flee. Tries. Nothing ever escapes a hunt, not when it is a vampire acting as the predator.

Jasper eyes the handful of humans that dare to brave a night in New Mexico. Maria needs more numbers to fill out her ranks but the soldiers have left this particular town, leaving it unguarded from he things that go bump in the night. Instead, Jasper looks for the intelligent, the canny and the resourceful. Even with their minds lost to bloodlust, newborns who once possessed those skills have proven themselves the better fighters. Not that they are even retained past the first year.

As the last wisps of daylight wither away, Jasper edges his way out onto the main drag of the town, running a hand through the curls that top his head. There’s no mass ofhorses around in truth, just the one tied to a post that whines something nervous before it’s even spotted him. It’s no worry, the beast’ll go still long before it tries alerting the humans. After all, it won’t wanna attract his attention for too long.

“Well, I’ll be. Little Jasper Whitlock.”

He doesn’t react to the voice at first. That, though, that is before his name is spoken. It is only through a control he didn’t think he could ever develop that Jasper doesn’t snap around to locate the source. Moving at human speed is painful and slow but it doesn’t frighten off the woman. And it is a woman, all long dark hair and smooth peachy skin. She’s got the smoothest skin he’s seen on a human; nowhere near vampiric perfection, but by human standards? It’s about there. He can’t get a whiff of anything from her.

“Ma’am,” Jasper tests the word, lets his lips form it, lets it roll off his tongue. She peers up at him, eyelashes clumped together by some form of black substance, almost like tar but ain’t no human stupid enough to put that near their eyes... he thinks. “Do I know you?”

“...I suppose not,” the woman murmurs, tucking a half-curl behind her ear, lips pursed and a thoughtful flicker to her eyes. Her emotions are a whirlwind, a tornado tearing up the terrain. He can’t get a good grasp on them, only enough of a feel to affirm that they’re in a constant flux. “But I know... sorry, I remember you... you’ve changed.” Hooking her thumb against the strap of her leather side bag, the woman shifts her weight to one hip and smiles at him. It’s familiar, like a distant memory scratching at the edges of his brain.

“I don’t remember, Ma’am,” he confesses, inhaling again but there’s no scent, not of prey or of predator. Just... a void.

“Hariel. My name is Hariel Potter.”

“Miss Hariel.”

“Just Hariel would do, Jasper Whitlock.” There’s that smile again, all soft corners and familiarity. Jasper... Jasper doesn’t remember her. Which means she must have known him from his human life. Ergo, she’ll soon notice the utter unnaturalness to his features, if she hasn’t already. It’s only a matter of time before the red eyes register within that primitive brain of hers. Then, then she’ll run screaming and he will be forced to hunt down the one hint he has stumbled across of his human life.

“Will you walk me back to my hotel? I’ve heard it’s dangerous to stay out at night.” Her expression is an amused thing now, secretive sparkles hidden in the crinkles that bracket her eyes. Teasing. She’s teasing him. It’s... Jasper cannot recall ever being teased before.

It’s startling, the sheer amount of heat her arm emits when compared to his own; the thin cotton of his worn white shirt does little to protect against the sudden sensation he finds himself exposed to. Harriel Potter flicks a quick glance his way and Jasper catches to little freckles of hazel that reside within her otherwise green eyes, a near match to the imperfect emeralds that dangle from her ears on thin silver chains. Delicate and subtle, just as the rest of her appearance is. A fair distance from her personality, as it would seem.

Yet, for all that she seems oblivious to the imminent danger she has placed herself in... it has been a very long time indeed that someone, anyone, has approached Jasper for something other than a fight. When was the last time a person with such... content emotions had been capable of remaining within his presence without descending into blood-curdling fear?

“I never agreed to walk you, Ma’am.”

“But you’d never leave a lady in distress, Mr Whitlock. You’re far too much of a Southern gentleman for that.” What?

Glancing down at the woman who currently holds his arm captive (even if it’s only because he’s letting her cling), Jasper meets her eyes in challenge. There’s not as many visible blood vessels in the whites. In fact, there’s significantly less of them than all the other humans he’s looked in the eye and fed from. The humans he’d killed. Coupled with her strange abyss scent... can he say with utter totality that she is human? There are, after all, vampires roaming the earth. Are they all that exists? Mind spinning, Jasper walks when Hariel gives a gentle tug of his arm on instinct alone, matching his otherwise long stride to that of the girl’s. Her arm is still warm by his own; Jasper tucks it more surely against his ribs. Fire no longer brings a feeling of warmth and comfort, just a burning realisation that it is one of the only things in existence capable of destroying a vampire it it’s entirety. The closest sensation they can get to a comfortable warmth is that of human flesh.

“Can I ask what brings you this far from your home, Jasper Whitlock?” It’s an honest, innocent enquiry; the truth and compassion of her words curdles beneath his ribs. As if they are just two humans making everyday conversation to pass the time. In the east, the moon slinks lazily up from the horizon.

Jasper does not recall a home.

“The war. It has displaced a great deal of men, Ma’am.”

“And buried even more,” she whispers, lips pressing ever so gently into a hard line. She stares straight ahead, brows steady and shoulders straight. Taunt like a bow.

“Yes. I suppose so.”

 

 

 

Hariel Potter leads him to a hotel, neither posh nor poor. Instead, it resides somewhere in the middle. As clean as one can expect during war times and human limitations. The door is now closed, a nugatory blockage against a being like him but Jasper leaves it be.

Hariel Potter had... she had smiled and thanked him as she disappeared behind the wooden threshold. Only Maria smiles at him now. It is never warm, never thankful. Maria’s smile is a self-centred thing, a curdling satisfaction that she picked the right solider.

Her smiles are nothing like Hariel Potter’s.

Perhaps because Maria is a vampire and Hariel Potter is... something else.

I hope we run into each other again, she’d said.

 

And, tentatively, Jasper wishes for the very same thing.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even know anymore.


End file.
